The only time she betrayed herself was just before the arrival of
the guests, when her mind reverted to her daughter.
"The Portmans are giving a ball next week, Arthur, and I want
Corinne to go. Are you sure he is coming?"
"Don't worry, Kitty, Portman's coming; and so are the Colonel, and
Crossbin, and Hodges, and the two Chicago directors, and Mason,
and a lot more. Everybody's coming, I tell you. If Mukton Lode
doesn't sit up and take notice with a new lease of life after
tonight, I'm a Dutchman. Run, there's the bell."
The merciful Scribe will spare the reader the details incident
upon the arrival of the several guests. These dinners are all
alike: the announcements by the butler; the passing of the
cocktails on a wine tray; the standing around until the last man
has entered the drawing-room; the perfunctory talk--the men who
have met before hobnobbing instantly with each other, the host
bearing the brunt of the strangers; the saunter into the dining-
room, the reading of cards, and the "Here you are, Mr.
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